This massive bird who could not fully open its wings in my living room for it would be crowded in that space, and now it is before me. It effortlessly flies by me again and looks at me. Do I know you? A feat of flying without flapping its wings AT ALL, only possible because of consistent wind and the energy contained within and released here, now, before me. I look to the east and there is no land, no image besides water until I look back at myself. I look to the west and there is no land to divert this wind, no barrier to stop the circumnavigating flow of this energy.
The middle of nowhere it seems. Yet it soars like it is in its backyard, calm as can be. It rises, searching (for me?), and it glides back toward the waves, and I can now see a slight movement. It is feeling the friction of the wind meeting the water. Its wings sense the surface without a casual glance, using delicate finger-like primary feathers to execute a turn back into the wind and it rises again! I am enthralled and excited, yet my albatross seems relaxed. Do I know you?
I continue to watch from the aft deck of the Caledonian Star and suddenly this 25-pound bird hovers without motion using a combination of feathers, muscles and bones to remain frozen in the air, above me like an angel. And my mind takes a photograph of stillness yet movement that I will never forget. My wandering albatross. Do I know you?